


(Three of) Fifty Ways to Leave Arkham Asylum

by MiraMira



Category: Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Arkham Asylum, Canon-Typical Violence, Caper Fic, Escape, F/M, Gen, Humor, Superheroes, Supervillains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 04:12:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11395101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiraMira/pseuds/MiraMira
Summary: There are lots of ways to escape from Arkham - and lots of potential partners to bring along.  Harley's tried nearly all of them at some point.  These are just a few of her favorites.





	(Three of) Fifty Ways to Leave Arkham Asylum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jungle_ride](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jungle_ride/gifts).



> I couldn't pick which Harley team-up to give you, jungle_ride, so I decided to do them both...along with a bit of Harley on her own. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Features cameos from Black Canary, Huntress, various members of the GCPD, and You Know Who. (No, not Voldemort; the scary one.)

**The Breakout**

Ivy

“Ivy,” Harley whines, shifting position on her cot for the fifth time in half as many minutes. Ivy, meanwhile, remains motionless in front of the cell door, where she has planted herself (so to speak) every day from first light to sundown for the past two weeks. “I believe I was promised, and I quote, ‘something interesting today.’ So far, this ain’t exactly livin’ up to expectations.”

“Patience,” Ivy insists, without so much as a glance in Harley’s direction.

“Not one of my strong suits,” Harley grumbles, abandoning the tossing and turning in favor of sitting up and kicking her feet against the cot. “Can I at least get a hint? And keep in mind before you answer, not all of us find watchin’ moss grow as entertaining as you do.”

“Ah, but not just _any_ moss.” Ivy beckons her over with a finger and points to the lock. It takes a fair bit of squinting, but finally Harley grasps what she’s looking at: amid the thin patches of olive drab and rust red are interspersed rivers of silver where the metal has begun to weaken. “Just a bit more expansion, and this should be loose enough for you to work with. And then--” She turns to Harley at last, green eyes gleaming. “Then the _real_ excitement begins.”

Harley stifles a tiny squeal.

Joker

Harley stares at the pile of debris that used to be the door to her cell, gives her head another good shake to clear the ringing in her ears, then turns to her rescuer, hands on hips. “You could’ve given me a heads up.”

“And spoil the surprise?” The Joker flashes her his most dashing grin. “Come along, my dear.”

Just as she is on the verge of swooning, he extends a hand and pulls her into the hallway. With his free arm, he reaches behind his back and presents her costume to her with a flourish.

“You really do think of everything, puddin’,” she murmurs.

They have time for one quick, passionate smooch before the alarm blares. She tucks the outfit under her arm, and they’re off down the hall, hand in hand, racing toward the next door that needs exploding.

Harley

“Dinner,” the guard on duty barks, shoving Harley’s tray through the bars. 

She barely manages to dodge before the bulk of the meal lands on her coveralls. “Yeesh,” she complains, brushing off stray droplets. “I’m not saying a smile would make this glop taste any better, but it couldn’t hurt, y’know?”

“Can it, Quinzel,” the guard snaps.

Harley frowns. “Seriously, Jerry - and you know I don’t use that word lightly - this ain’t like you. What’s wrong?”

“None o’yer beeswax,” Jerry tells her. But there’s a quaver behind the words this time, and a matching watery tremble in his eyes.

“Aw, c’mon,” Harley urges, gently nudging the tray aside with her foot. “You know, fixing people’s problems used to be my job, before I switched over to causin’ them instead.” She tilts her head invitingly toward the interior of the cell. “Y’wanna talk about it?”

\- 

“Don’t get me wrong; I love my ma. But I kinda worry she messed me up for relationships, y’know?” Wiping away tears with the corner of his sleeve, Jerry rolls over to face the corner of the cell where Harley is seated, propping himself up from her cot with his other arm as he does so. “Like, I keep picking women who are either too much like her or the exact opposite, and it always ends in tears. Y’think maybe I got one of them Oedipal complexes or something?”

“There’s nothin’ weird or even Freudian about picking up relationship patterns from your parents. Everyone does it,” Harley reassures him. Her eyes flicker briefly to the keyring dangling from his belt. “Still, to change the patterns, sometimes y’gotta go deep. Ever thought about trying hypnosis therapy?”

**The Caper**

Ivy

“People of Gotham!” Ivy bellows, in a voice that forces even the few pedestrians jaded enough to ignore the screaming hordes and screeching tires to look up and panic. And if even that doesn’t frighten them into clearing out, the sight of the Miller Avenue traffic circle transformed into a writhing mass of razor-edged vines combined with Harley brandishing a semi-automatic seems to do the trick. “For too long, your native plant species have been confined to these pathetic preserves, beaten down by feet and squeezed out by tame topiary. Tonight marks both our liberation and theirs!”

“What she said!” Harley chimes in, as she scans the scene for law enforcement and loiterers. She still isn’t convinced this should be their top priority, but she’s been promised their next destination is the zoo, so she’s on board for now.

“Think that calendar of yours might be a little off,” a feminine voice informs them from a nearby alleyway.

Ivy sighs as the speaker and her companion stride into view. “Typical. Convince just one person to throw off the shackles of conformity, and Batman will be on you in an instant. We declare the chlorophyll revolution, and this is the best we get?”

Huntress turns to her partner, hands on hips. “Hear that, Canary? I think we’ve just been labeled the B team.” 

“Shouldn’t have done that,” says Black Canary, shaking her head. Harley barely manages to plug her ears before this segues into a wordless assault. Meanwhile, Huntress takes advantage of the chaos to fire off a round of crossbow bolts, all of which fall wide of the mark.

“Nice shooting,” Ivy scoffs, as Canary pauses to take a breath.

“I certainly thought so,” says Huntress, unfazed.

“Uh, Ivy?” Harley, whose focus on the battle has been somewhat distracted since the ground beneath her feet stopped rumbling, points down. “These vines ain’t lookin’ so healthy.”

Sure enough, the traffic circle is now ringed by brown, lifeless coils of foliage.

“My babies!” Ivy wails, and lunges at Huntress with a howl more animal than plant-like. _“What was in those arrows?”_

“Weed killer,” Huntress smirks.

Her self-satisfied expression lasts for all of five seconds before a new tendril binds her hands and wraps itself around her neck until she passes out. With a flick of Ivy’s wrist, another massive vine erupts from the ground and slams Black Canary against a wall, putting her out for the count. 

Releasing her hold on Huntress, Ivy stalks off, snarling. Harley lingers behind. “You really shouldn’t’ve done that,” she says, giving Huntress’s shoulder a sympathetic pat, before racing off to catch up with her partner.

Joker

“It’s a _very_ clever plan, puddin’,” Harley enthuses, as the Joker pauses to take a breath in between practicing his triumphant speech for when he at last has his archrival in his clutches and barking orders at the construction crew that the guillotine needs to be at a sixty- _five_ degree angle, not sixty-three. “But--”

“Ah, ah!” Joker waggles a scolding finger at her, nearly dropping a crate of live fire ants in the process. “What have I told you about using pet names in front of the henchmen?”

“Sorry, Mister J,” she tells him, taking the crate and handing it over to an alarmed flunky. “Anyway, as I was sayin’, it’s a very clever plan. I’m just...not sure I get it.”

Joker scowls. “I do _so_ hate to explain the joke in advance.” Thankfully, before she has a chance to start begging forgiveness, his expression softens, and he gestures dismissively. “But for you, and the benefit of these blundering ignoramuses, I suppose I can make an exception.”

“You are truly magnanimous, sir,” Harley gushes. The henchmen are quick to agree, especially when she glowers at the stragglers.

“Do you understand the marmosets, at least?”

Harley nods. “Not so much of a threat on their own that he won’t investigate further, but just enough of a distraction to slow him down while we make the final preparations.”

“Unless, of course,” someone booms from the rafters, “he’s had this warehouse monitored all along.” 

As Batman comes swooping down, scattering henchmen in his wake, Harley keeps a wary eye on the Joker. He’s not smiling, which never bodes well. But there’s still that gleeful twinkle in his eye that tells her plans be damned: if this is the hand fate has dealt him, he’s going to make the most of the situation.

Well, then, how can she do any less? Retrieving the crate of fire ants from the table where it’s been abandoned, she hurls it at the approaching Bat.

Harley

“...And five pairs of argyle socks,” says the department store clerk, ringing up the last of Harley’s items. “That comes to $794.96. Do you have any coupons?”

“Money?” Harley pouts, giving the nonexistent pockets of her sundress a fruitless pat. (At least it gives her an opportunity to double-check for security tags. She’s not making _that_ mistake again.) “Dang! I keep forgettin’!”

If the clerk notices anything amiss in this complaint, he doesn’t allow it to ruffle his professional demeanor. “I can put the items on layaway for you, if you prefer to come back later, ma’am. I’ll just need a copy of your photo ID.”

“Aww!” Harley beams. She pinches the clerk’s cheek, freezing his smile into a nervous rictus. “That’s awful nice of you, but I don’t have one of those on me, either. ‘Sides, the banks’ve gotta be the first place they’ll be looking for me.”

Ripping a display rung off the wall, she gives it an experimental swing, missing the now terrified clerk’s jaw by centimeters. “Oh, well. Guess I’ll be takin’ this, too.”

**The Return**

Ivy

“This isn’t over,” Ivy tells Detective Montoya, as she’s being loaded into the back of the police wagon. “The roots of this struggle are deep, and they will weather your oppression. Prune us back, and we only grow stronger!”

Montoya rolls her eyes and slams the door shut.

“Didja have fun, at least?” asks Harley, as the driver pulls away.

Ivy just glowers.

“C’mon,” Harley wheedles. “Not even when that one gardener wet himself right as we showed up?”

A crack appears in the stony set of Ivy’s jaw, and she chuckles. “That was perfect timing, wasn’t it?”

Harley grins. “See?” Then she remembers something, and a slight furrow creases her own brow. “But don’t think I’m letting you off the hook over who picks our next outing. You still owe me a trip to the zoo.”

Joker

“We’ll take it from here, Batman,” Commissioner Gordon tells the cowled crusader as the SWAT team unceremoniously shoves Harley in the back of the wagon, though not before nearly colliding with a pair of hazmat specialists on the trail of the last of the fire ants.

“See that you do,” Batman growls, sounding more surly than usual. Harley can’t tell whether it’s from the fire ant bites or something else: after subduing the Joker and tying them up back to back, he’d just stood there, studying them with an unreadable but distinctly unfriendly expression until the authorities arrived.

Then again, the fire ants might have had something to do with that, too. Banishing the last traces of unease, she snuggles up to Joker as much as their restraints and mutual injuries will allow. “Sorry it didn’t work out, Mister J.” 

“They can’t all be winners,” Joker says. At least, she thinks that’s what he says; it’s hard to tell through the face mask. “We’ll pick something less...predictable next time.”

Harley sighs happily at the ‘we.’ “You betcha, puddin’.”

Harley

“You’re...turning yourself in?” asks the trembling Arkham night receptionist, unsure whether to focus her attention on Harley or the surrounding circle of security guards, all of them training their loaded guns at the area straight in front of her desk.

“Yep!” Harley chirps, dangling her (mostly) unbloodied shopping bag. “Got me some fresh air, gotta new wardrobe...I think I’ve done everything that needs doing. Also, I wanna check in on Jerry. I think we made a real therapeutic breakthrough.”

The receptionist glances at the security guards, who shrug and begin lowering their guns. One, though, can’t restrain himself from shaking his head and sneering. “Of all the freaks in here, you really take the cake, Quinzel.”

“Oh!” Harley’s eyes widen. As she smacks her forehead, the guards resume their previous stance. “That’s right! I was gonna try that new bakery on Nolan Way. I hear Lex Luthor gives it four stars.” She holds up her free hand in a ‘hang on’ gesture, and a dozen hammers cock in unison. “Don’t go anywhere; this’ll only take a sec.”

With that, she slides the shopping bag off her arm at the exact moment she throws the smoke bomb, and runs.


End file.
